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CfiPmiGHT DEPOSni 



A FEW FIGS FROM THISTLES 



By 

Edna St, Vincent Millay 



RENASCENCE, and Other Poems 

A FEW FIGS FROM THISTLES, Poems 

SECOND APRIL, Poems 

ARIA DA CAPO, a Play 

TWO SLATTERNS AND A KING, a Play 

THE LAMP AND THE BELL, a Play 

THE BALLAD OF THE HARP- 
WEAVER, a Poem 



^ Few FiQS From Thistles 

POEMS AND SONNETS 

Edna Sl.ViRcent Millaip 



NEW AND 
ENLARGED EDITION 



FRANK SHAY A STEWART KIDD 



PUBLISHER ^^m. DISTRIBUTOR 
NEW YORK -iJF^lEk CINCINNATI 



Copyright, 1922 by C-, 

FRANK SHAY < "^'^ fv 

AU Rights Reserved Ov^ /\ 



Printed in the United States of America 

The Caxton Press 



3CU602651 



A FEW FIGS FROM THISTLES 



Thanks are due to the editors of Ainslie's, The Dial, Pearson's, 
Poetry, Reedy' s Mirror, and Vanity Fair, for their kind permission to 
republish various of these poems. 

This edition of "A Few Figs from Thistles" contains several 
poems not included in earlier editions. 



FIRST FIG g 

SECOND FIG g 

RECUERDO 10 

THURSDAY 12 

TO THE NOT IMPOSSIBLE HIM I3 

MACDOUGAL STREET I4 

THE SINGING- WOMAN FROM THE WOOD'S EDGE 1 6 

SHE IS OVERHEARD SINGING I9 

THE PRISONER 22 

THE UNEXPLORER 23 

GROWN-UP 24 

THE PENITENT 25 

DAPHNE 27 

PORTRAIT BY A NEIGHBOR 28 

MIDNIGHT OIL 30 

THE MERRY MAID 3 1 

TO KATHLEEN 32 

TO S. M. 33 

THE PHILOSOPHER 34 

SONNET— Love, Though for This 36 

SONNET— I Think I Should Have Loved You 37 

SONNET— Oh, Think Not I am Faithful 38 

SONNET— I Shall Forget You Presently 39 



FIRST FIG 



TV/TY candle bums at both ends; 

It will not last the night; 
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends- 
It gives a lovely light! 



SECOND FIG 

QAFE upon the solid rock the ugly houses stand: 
Come and see my shining palace built upon the 
sand! 



RECUERDO 

"X^IZE were very tired, we were very merry — 

We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry. 
It was bare and bright, and smelled like a stable — 
But we looked into a fire, we leaned across a table, 
We lay on the hill-top underneath the moon; 
And the whistles kept blowing, and the dawn came 
soon. 

We were very tired, we were very merry — 

We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry; 

And you ate an apple, and I ate a pear, 

From a dozen of each we had bought somewhere; 

And the sky went wan, and the wind came cold. 

And the sun rose dripping, a bucketful of gold. 

We were very tired, we were very merry, 
We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry. 
We hailed, "Good morrow, mother!" to a shawl- 
covered head, 



10 



RECUERDO 

And bought a morning paper, which neither of us read; 
And she wept, ''God bless you!" for the apples and the 

pears, 
And we gave her all our money but our subway fares. 



zi 



THURSDAY 



A ND if I loved you Wednesday, 

Well, what is that to you? 
I do not love you Thursday — 
So much is true. 

And why you come complaining 

Is more than I can see. 
I loved you Wednesday, — yes — but what 

Is that to me? 



12 



TO THE NOT IMPOSSIBLE HIM 

'OW shall I know, unless I go 
To Cairo and Cathay, 
Whether or not this blessed spot 
Is blest in every way? 

Now it may be, the flower for me 
Is this beneath my nose; 

How shall I tell, unless I smell 
The Carthaginian rose? 

The fabric of my faithful love 
No power shall dim or ravel 

Whilst I stay here, — but oh, my dear. 
If I should ever travel! 



13 



MACDOUGAL STREET 

A^S I went walking up and down to take the evening 
air, 
(Sweet to meet upon the street, why must I be so 
shy?) 
I saw him lay his hand upon her torn black hair; 
("Little dirty Latin child, let the lady by!") 

The women squatting on the stoops were slovenly 
and fat, 

(Lay me out in organdie, lay me out in lawn!) 
And everywhere I stepped there was a baby or a cat; 

(Lord, God in Heaven, will it never be dawn?) 

The fruit-carts and clam-carts were ribald as a fair, 
(Pink nets and wet shells trodden under heel) 

She had haggled from the fruit-man of his rotting ware; 
(I shall never get to sleep, the way I feel !) 

He walked like a king through the filth and the clutter, 
(Sweet to meet upon the street, why did you glance 
me by?) 



14 



MACDOUGAL STREET 

But he caught the quaint Italian quip she flung him 
from the gutter; 
(What can there be to cry about that I should lie 

and cry?) 

He laid his darling hand upon her little black head, 
(I wish I were a ragged child with ear-rings in my 
ears !) 
And he said she was a baggage to have said what she 
had said; 
(Truly I shall be ill unless I stop these tears!) 



15 



THE SINGING-WOMAN FROM THE WOOD'S 

EDGE 

\X7HAT should I be but a prophet and a liar, 

Whose mother was a leprechaun, whose father 
was a friar? 
Teethed on a crucifix and cradled under water. 
What should I be but the fiend's god-daughter? 

And who should be my playmates but the adder and 

the frog, 
That was got beneath a furze -bush and born in a bog? 
And what should be my singing, that was christened 

at an altar, 
But Aves and Credos and Psalms out of the Psalter? 

You will see such webs on the wet grass, maybe, 
As a pixie-mother weaves for her baby. 
You will find such flame at the wave's weedy ebb 
As flashes in the meshes of a mer-mother's web. 



i6 



THE SINGING- WOMAN 

But there comes to birth no common spawn 
From the love of a priest for a leprechaun, 
And you never have seen and you never will see 
Such things as the things that swaddled me! 

After all's said and after all's done, 
What should I be but a harlot and a nun? 

In through the bushes, on any foggy day. 
My Da would come a-swishing of the drops away, 
With a prayer for my death and a groan for my birth, 
A-mumbling of his beads for all that he was worth. 

And there sit my Ma, her knees beneath her chin, 
A-looking in his face and a-drinking of it in. 
And a-marking in the moss some funny little saying 
That would mean just the opposite of all that he was 
praying! 

He taught me the holy-talk of Vesper and of Matin, 
He heard me my Greek and he heard me my Latin, 
He blessed me and crossed me to keep my soul from 

evil. 
And we watched him out of sight, and we conjured up 

the devil! 



17 



FIGS FROM THISTLES 

Oh, the things I haven't seen and the things I haven't 

known, 
What with hedges and ditches till after I was grown, 
And yanked both ways by my mother and my father, 
With a "Which would you better?" and a "Which 

would you rather?" 

With him for a sire and her for a dam, 
What should I be but just what I am? 



i8 



SHE IS OVERHEARD SINGING 

)H, Prue she has a patient man, 
And Joan a gentle lover, 
And Agatha's Arth' is a hug-the-hearth, — 
But my true love's a rover! 

Mig, her man's as good as cheese 

And honest as a briar, 
Sue tells her love what he's thinking of, — 

But my dear lad's a liar! 

Oh, Sue and Prue and Agatha 

Are thick with Mig and Joan ! 
They bite their threads and shake their heads 

And gnaw my name like a bone; 

And Prue says, "Mine's a patient man, 
As never snaps me up," 



19 



FIGS FROM THISTLES 

And Agatha, "Arth' is a hug-the=hearth, 
Could live content in a cup," 

Sue's man's mind is like good jell — 

All one color, and clear — 
And Mig's no call to think at all 

What's to come next year, 

While Joan makes boast of a gentle lad. 
That's troubled with that and this; — 

But they all would give the life they live 
For a look from the man I kiss 1 

Cold he slants his eyes about, 

And few enough's his choice, — 
Though he'd slip me clean for a nun, or a queen, 

Or a beggar with knots in her voice, — 

And Agatha will turn awake 

When her good man sleeps sound, 
And Mig and Sue and Joan and Prue 

Will hear the clock strike round, 

For Prue she has a patient man, 
As asks not when or why, 



20 



SHE IS OVERHEARD SINGING 

And Mig and Sue have naught to do 
But peep who's passing by, 

Joan is paired with a putterer 
That bastes and tastes and salts, 

And Agatha's Arth' is a hug-the-hearth, — 
But my true love is false! 



21 



THE PRISONER 



^LL right, 

Go ahead! 
What's in a name? 
I guess I'll be locked into 
As much as I'm locked out of! 



22 



THE UNEXPLORER 

npHERE was a road ran past our house 

Too lovely to explore. 
I asked my mother once — she said 
That if you followed where it led 
It brought you to the milk-man's door. 
(That's why I have not traveled more.) 



33 



GROWN-UP 

■^il^^AS it for this I uttered prayers, 

And sobbed and cursed and kicked the stairs, 
That now, domestic as a plate, 
I should retire at half-past eight? 



24 



THE PENITENT 



J HAD a little Sorrow, 

Bom of a little Sin, 
I found a room all damp with gloom 

And shut us all within; 
And, * 'Little Sorrow, weep," said I, 
"And, Little Sin, pray God to die. 
And I upon the floor will lie 

And think how bad I've been!" 

Alas for pious planning — 

It mattered not a whit ! 
As far as gloom went in that room, 

The lamp might have been lit! 
My Little Sorrow would not weep, 
My Little Sin would go to sleep — 
To save my soul I could not keep 

My graceless mind on it! 

So up I got in anger. 
And took a book I had, 



25 



FIGS FROM THISTLES 

And put a ribbon on my hair 

To please a passing lad. 
And, **One thing there's no getting by- 
I've been a wicked girl," said I; 
"But if I can't be sorry, why, 

I might as well be glad!" 



26 



DAPHNE 



'\A7'HY do you follow me?—- 

Any moment I can be 
Nothing but a laurel-tree. 

Any moment of the chase 

I can leave you in my place 

A pink bough for your embrace. 

Yet if over hill and hollow 
Still it is your will to follow, 
I am off; — to heel, Apollo! 



27 



PORTRAIT BY A NEIGHBOR 

OEFORE she has her floor swept 

Or her dishes done, 

Any day you'll find her 

A-sunning in the sun! 

It's long after midnight 

Her key's in the lock, 
And you never see her chimney smoke 

Till past ten o'clock! 

She digs in her garden 

With a shovel and a spoon, 

She weeds her lazy lettuce 
By the light of the moon. 

She walks up the walk 
Like a woman in a dream, 



28 



PORTRAIT BY A NEIGHBOR 

She forgets she borrowed butter 
And pays you back cream! 

Her lawn looks like a meadow, 
And if she mows the place 

She leaves the clover standing 
And the Queen Anne's lace! 



29 



MIDNIGHT OIL 

r^UT if you will, with Sleep's dull knife, 

Each day to half its length, my friend,- 
The years that Time takes off 1213/ life, 
He'll take from off the other end! 



30 



THE MERRY MAID 

QH, I am grown so free from care 

Since my heart broke! 
I set my throat against the air, 
I laugh at simple folk! 

There's little kind and little fair 
Is worth its weight in smoke 

To me, that's grown so free from care 
Since my heart broke! 

Lass, if to sleep you would repair 
As peaceful as you woke. 

Best not besiege your lover there 
For just the words he spoke 

To me, that's grown so free from care 
Since my heart broke! 



31 



TO KATHLEEN 



QTILL must the poet as of old, 

In barren attic bleak ajid cold, 
Starve, freeze, and fashion verses to 
Such things as flowers and song and you; 

Still as of old his being give 

In Beauty's name, while she may live, 

Beauty that may not die as long 

As there are flowers and you and song. 



32 



TO S. M. 

// he should lie a-d^ing 

T AM not willing you should go 

Into the earth, where Helen went; 
She is awake by now, I know. 
Where Cleopatra's anklets rust 
You will not lie with my consent; 
And Sappho is a roving dust; 
Cressid could love again; Dido, 
Rotted in state, is restless still; 
You leave me much against my will. 



33 



\i 



THE PHILOSOPHER 

ND what are you that, missing you, 
I should be kept awake 
As many nights as there are days 
With weeping for your sake? 

And what are you that, missing you. 

As many days as crawl 
I should be listening to the wind 

And looking at the wall? 

I know a man that's a braver man 

And twenty men as kind, 
And what are you, that you should be 

The one man in my mind? 

Yet women's ways are witless ways. 

As any sage will tell, — 
And what am I, that I should love 

So wisely and so well? 



34 



FOUR SONNETS 



35 



FIGS FROM THISTLES 



T OVE, though for this you riddle me with darts, 

And drag me at your chariot till I die, — 
Oh, heavy prince! Oh, panderer of hearts! — 
Yet hear me tell how in their throats they lie 
Who shout you mighty: thick about my hair, 
Day in, day out, your ominous arrows purr, 
Who still am free, unto no querulous care 
A fool, and in no temple worshiper ! 
I, that have bared me to your quiver's fire, 
Lifted my face into its puny rain. 
Do wreathe you Impotent to Evoke Desire 
As you are Powerless to Elicit Pain ! 
(Now will the god, for blasphemy so brave, 
Punish me, surely, with the shaft I crave!) 



36 



SONNETS 



II 



T THINK I should have loved you presently, 

And given in earnest words I flung in jest; 
And lifted honest eyes for you to see, 
And caught your hand against my cheek and breast; 
And all n-y pretty follies flung aside 
That won you to me, and beneath your gaze, 
Naked of reticence and shorn of pride, 
Spread like a chart my little wicked ways. 
I, that had been to you, had you remained. 
But one more waking from a recurrent dream, 
Cherish no less the certain stakes I gained, 
And walk your memory's halls, austere, supreme, 
A ghost in marble of a girl you knew 
Who would have loved you in a day or two. 



37 



FIGS FROM THISTLES 



III 



QH, THINK not I am faithful to a vow! ' 
Faithless am I save to love's self alone. 
Were you not lovely I would leave you now: ' 
After the feet of beauty fljr my own. 
Were you not still my hunger's rarest food. 
And water ever to my wildest thirst, 
I would desert you — think not but I would !~- 
And seek another as I sought you first. 
But you are m^obile as the veering air, 
And all your charms more changeful than the tide, 
Wherefore to be inconstant is no care: 
I have but to continue at your side. 
So wanton, light and false, my love, are you, 
I am most faithless when I most am true. 



38 



SONNETS 



IV 



T SHALL forget you presently, my dear. 

So make the most of this, your little day. 
Your little month, your little half a year, 
Ere I forget, or die, or move away. 
And we are done forever; by and by 
I shall forget you, as I said, but now, 
If you entreat me with your loveliest lie 
I will protest you with my favorite vow. 
I would indeed that love were longer-lived. 
And vows were not so brittle as they are, 
But so it is, and nature has contrived 
To struggle on without a break thus far, — 
Whether or not we find what we are seeking 
Is idle, biologically speaking. 



39 



■>H-j 



